Metal Gear Hybrid
by millenium-writer
Summary: Two thirds of an island chain off the east coast of South America have vanished. The US Navy has deployed a battlegroup to blockade the island. Rather than risk a repeat of Outer Haven Roy Campbell has deployed a new FOXHOUND unit squad number three, ACID


For my second Metal Gear fic, I thought I'd stick to the thematic design of the games, as far as presentation goes. What that means is, for the beginning of the story, I'll be laying down a large wad of info, both current, and background.

I'll try to at least give a decent sampling of what the action, the primary focus of both the games, and this story, is going to look like.

For the moment, I hope you'll bear with me, and try to keep an open mind.

As with nearly everything I write, the opening gets a little rough.

Hang on.

-

**Metal Gear Hybrid**

The wind screamed past his ear, tearing at his body as the concussion of anti-air cannons ripped through the sky. Far below was the only speck of land in a great big sea, and it was calling to him. Silently. Invitingly. It promised safe haven from the roaring AA fire, and the frigid, silent sea. It also promised blood would be spilled.

Controlling his breathing, he tuned everything out, and the entire world around him dimmed as he thought back to the briefing.

-

**Location: Somewhere above the Atlantic Ocean, off the east coast of South America **

**Transportation: EB-52H Stratofortress**

**Altitude: 40,000 feet**

**Time: 0558 hours**

**Weather conditions: CaV OK**

"The target is Renton and Young, a privately owned research turned development company located on the Perlemain island chain." There was a soft click, and a monitor slowly unfolded from the ceiling of the cabin, displaying a topographical map of the island chain. "Originally known for it's ground-breaking work on the mass production of nanotubes-"

"Nanotubes?" One of the men seated in the B52's middle cabin section raised the question. All four of them were identically dressed in grey slacks, canvas shoes, and beige turtleneck shirts. All four wore blank expressions, and with the exception of one who wore a crew cut, all had heads of dark, shaggy, roughly cut hair.

Grunting at the interruption, the uniformed man turned to address the question. "One millionth of a millimeter-sized tubes made out of sheets of aligned carbon molecules. The shape and composition makes an ideal construction material for nearly anything." Clasping his hands behind his back, the cabin lighting glinted off of the pin on the right breast of his uniform. A silver eagle, clutching a bundle of arrows, the insignia of a colonel. "Half of the equipment you're carrying is made of the stuff. The chemical bonding of nanotubes is composed entirely of sp2 bonds, similar to those of graphite. This bonding structure, which is stronger than the sp3 bonds found in diamond, provides the molecules with their unique strength."

"Stronger than diamond? You're full of it. Nothing's stronger than a diamond"

"Croc, shut up." Leaning forward in his seat to glare at the man he called Croc, the speaker laced his fingers together, resting his chin on his hands. "Please, continue Colonel."

Clearing his throat, the Colonel stared at the four men for a moment, then turned to look back at the screen. "Technical jargon aside, it is needless to say that this achievement put Renton and Young on the map. Their secret was this." The screen blanked, then filled with an underwater photograph of a volcanic vent. "These stabilized underwater volcanos. Pumping the vents full of freon laced with carbon, plus the unique combination of the minerals in the surrounding seawater, mixed with the deposits in the vent spewed forth long strands of naturally-formed nanotubes."

"When you say 'long strands', how long are we talking?"

"Six to ten centimeters."

The man let out a whistle.

"What does that mean?"

"It means, Rabbit, that now the world had an easily accessible source of usable nanotubes. Prior to this, nanotube formation was limited to a few millimeters in length, painstakingly crafted in chemical furnaces at the great expense of time and money."

Rabbit frowned. "Couldn't other people just copy the idea and make their own stuff then?"

"Unfortunately, no. It seems that the volcanic vents here are unique, there's none like it anywhere else in the world." Glancing at the display for a moment, the Colonel turned back to the squad. "Needless to say, this discovery made the company very, very wealthy. It wasn't long before corporate espionage began. After four near-failures, the company tired of relying on PMCs for protection."

"PMCs?" Rabbit cocked his head to the side.

"Private Military Companys. You should be familiar with that term, Lunar Eagle worked for a PMC by the name of Blackwater before joining the unit."

Rabbit and Croc turned to look at Eagle, slightly surprised. Eagle simply grinned in response.

"So they shifted the focus of their research to deal with the problem."

"Exactly. Going from essentially chemical production to military R&D overnight is no easy task, but Renton and Young were trillionaires by then. First weapons research, but that failed for one obvious reason."

"They were still relying on PMCs for the manpower."

"Right. Seeing the problem, R and Y moved onto what they saw as the next logical step."

"Human experimentation."

"Genetic research, well within their reach due to their primarily scientific background. Why rely on a hired thug with a gun, when you can grow your own, and arm him with weapons you made?"

"Because a man grown in a vat will have the mind of a child."

"As expected, right again. Cloning can only take a soldier so far, so they began to experiment with gene therapy. Type One gene therapy was a colossal failure, as evidenced by the Genome project undertaken by the American military. Attempting to graft the so called 'soldier genes' of America's greatest soldier, Big Boss, led to short term performance increase before widespread organ failure set in. Type Two gene therapy soon followed, with mixed results."

"Up yours." Croc crossed his arms over his chest and looked away from the Colonel.

"Nasty Crocodile, the end result of Type Two gene therapy. Also a typical result. Many of the soldiers who underwent the process gained a marginal increase in reaction times, and a major increase in aggression." The Colonel didn't feel it was necessary to mention the personality disorders.

"Ha ha." Smirking, Rabbit leaned back in his seat, folding his hands behind his head as Croc scowled at him.

"Cane Rabbit, the total opposite end of the spectrum. For some reason, the therapy took, at a million to one odds. There is no data to explain why he was the only success, or any reason why he became almost supernaturally lucky. There is data, however, on the increase to agility and hand-eye co-ordination."

Croc turned his pointed stare from Rabbit, to Eagle, to the Colonel. "What about him?"

"Lunar Eagle, sharpshooter. Best in the world, bar none. With a perfect kill record, and the current holder of the longest range confirmed kill, two and a half miles with a-"

"Whatever. Why did Type Two work so well with him? Was that one in a million crap a lie?"

"No. Eagle never underwent Type Two modification. Instead, he was one of the few hundred that was selected for Type Three modification."

"Type Three?" Both Rabbit and Croc fixed their attention on Eagle once again. Once again, he simply responded with a smile.

"Type Three gene therapy was the first time since the Genome Soldier Project to use an actual donor for the genes, rather than synthetically creating them in a lab. The donor for Eagle's gene therapy was the former FOXHOUND rifle specialist, Sniper Wolf, post-mortem. Needless to say, the adjustment of Wolf's genes have made him the perfect sniper."

"What about our so-called leader?" Croc scoffed. "I'll bet he got his from Big ass Boss himself?"

"No, ever since the disastrous, and successful, results of the 'Les enfants terrible' project, Big Boss' genes have been left untouched." The Colonel turned to look over the men for a moment, perhaps wondering if he should expand on that last statement. "Have any of you heard of Frank Jaeger?"

"You mean Mister X." The so-called leader of the squad continued to rest his chin on his laced together fingers. "The informant of Shadow Moses."

"What, that cyborg ninja guy?" Rabbit frowned, trying to dredge up any other facts pertaining to the man.

"He's the main reason for much of the success of the gene therapy projects. He was experimented on constantly, tested, doped, cut open and stitched back together, over and over again." The Colonel frowned. "He was a good man, he didn't deserve that sort of treatment."

"Like you'd know." Croc smirked.

"Croc, shut up."

"Why should I?"

"Because Colonel Campbell knew Jaeger personally. He was the man's CO." He glared icily at Croc.

"It's alright." Colonel Campbell waved a hand dismissively. "It's in the past."

"You were telling us about Frank Jaeger for a reason, weren't you?" Eagle scratched his chin with a thumb.

"Right. Frank Jaeger's genes were selected for use in the highly experimental, Type Four gene therapy project, on a single subject screened from the entire US military. That man was Blue Panther, the only man in FOXHOUND two earn two codenames, Panther, and Blue Bird."

"Colonel, if we could continue with the briefing?" Blue Panther's mouth was drawn into a thin line. He clearly didn't enjoy discussing his background.

"Of course. After pioneering the gene therapy cause, R and Y moved up in the world, picking up military contracts left and right. Cloning, gene therapy, weapons research, they did it all. But it still wasn't enough." Turning towards the display screen, it flashed a map of the island chain again. "They wanted to move into the armored artillery division. They succeeded with flying colors on their first test." The screen blipped to a second map. "By blowing away half the island chain, they proved they could do it just as well as anything else they tried. Satellite imagery of the explosion detected no airborne projectiles, no surface detonations, no SAM sites, no towed launchers."

"A bunker-buster dropped from a chopper?" Blue Panther fixed his eyes on the displayed map, memorizing the island layout of landmarks and roads.

"Nothing was picked up on long-range radar from Florida."

"What about a submarine?" Rabbit shifted his position a little, turning to face the rest of the group, and put a bit of his back toward Croc.

"It's impossible to launch a missile without propellant, satellites would pick up the heat bloom in a heartbeat." Campbell frowned at the displayed image. "There's no way it was a missile."

"What about strapping a bomb to a UAV?" Lunar Eagle focused intently on the map, scanning the topography, memorizing every tree, bush, and rock. His performance depended on knowing exactly where to lay up, and what he could see.

"Nothing was picked up like that after the explosion, so it is possible that they suicide-bombed a UAV, but unlikely."

"Possible and probable, considering how much disposable income they have, no?" Eagle glanced at the Colonel for a moment.

"We'll consider that as the most likely possibility, for now. Considering the amount of devastation, without any remaining radiation, or damage to the remainder of the island chain, it's an extremely powerful device, whatever it is." Shaking his head, Campbell turned to face the four. "You've all been selected by FOXHOUND for this mission for your unique skills and talents. Consider this mission as your informal introduction to the unit. Welcome to squad number three, ACID."

"Acid?" Rabbit sat up a little straighter, dropping his hands from his head to his lap.

"Armed Insurrection Combat Deterrent." Glancing at his watch, Campbell gestured to three bundles of clothing laid out on a table. "Croc, Eagle, Rabbit, these are your uniforms for the mission. "Your gear for the drop is waiting in the bay, follow me." Striding out of the cabin into the rear of the plane, the Colonel gestured at a stack of long gunmetal green crates. "The field supplies are in shock resistant crates rigged with drop chutes. All you have to do is pull the cord before you deploy your chutes, and they'll drop right where you aim them, accurate to within a fifty meter radius." He pointed at several bundles of gear sitting atop each of the crates. "Your drop and mission equipment, one set for each of you. Parachutes, thermal suits for the HALO jump, as well as breathing masks and altimeters."

"What about these dumb outfits?" Croc shook out the bundle of charcoal grey cloth he had picked up back in the cabin. "Where's the camo?"

Eagle looked over the outfit with a critical eye, bending and shifting the material in his hands. Seemingly pleased with the lack of noise the odd fabric made, he began stripping down without complaint.

"These are the first, modern era sneaking suits. Designed to resist temperature extremes, waterproof, and slightly damage resistant. Nearly soundless, these suits will actually dampen the amount of noise your body generates. The color is for urban deployment, and considering how big the main compound is, you'll be glad for it soon enough."

"You'd look pretty stupid, raiding a lab in jungle camouflage." Grinning, Rabbit proceeded to undress as well. "We keep our own boots on?"

"Considering the scramble time, yes. Ordinarily, FOXHOUND would issue tailor fit, personalized gear, but we simply didn't have the time for it." Watching for a moment, Campbell turned away to look at Panther, who was examining one of the breathing masks. "Unfortunately, we were only able to dig three first gen sneaking suits out of the mothballs and tag them with tracers. You should consider yourselves lucky we were able to get them at all."

"And none for Big ass Boss." Smirking, Croc stepped behind a crate, hunched down low, and began undressing. "Ha ha."

"It's no trouble." Stripping off his shirt to reveal a layer of dark, skin hugging synthetic, Panther toed off his shoes before dropping the slacks as well. Ignoring the looks the rest of the group gave him, he picked up the thermal drop suit and gathered it up in his hands.

"What the hell? What's that crap he's wearing?" Croc, still huddling behind the crate, pointed an accusing finger at Panther and his outfit.

"A Skull Suit. A second gen sneaking suit designed for FOXHOUND operatives." Campbell looked over the outfit with a critical eye. "The smartskin is designed specifically to work with intravenous nanomachines to create a bio-feedback system. Objectively speaking, it's leagues ahead of the first gen suits."

"Why didn't we get that stuff? How come he has it and not us?" Croc's tone continued to grow heated as he spoke. He was feeling cheated, and shortchanged. A typical reaction from him.

"Two reasons. One, the Skull Suit is special issue and custom fit to FOXHOUND operatives. And two, it's all but useless without the nanomachines that you _refused_ to be injected with."

"Ok, fine. The stupid nanomachines. I'll take them then."

"Apparently listening isn't one of your better skills. We don't have a doctor aboard to inject you with something we're not carrying up here. And we can't just throw a suit on you, they have to be custom made to fit every curve of your body."

Growling incoherent curses and mutters, Croc tried to yank on his hair, hampered by it's lack of length. "Well why does HE have one then?"

"I was wearing it when the Colonel picked me up." Zipping up the drop suit, Panther detached the pressurized canisters from the breathing mask. Tugging out a bundle he had stuffed into his holster, he gave it a shake, then busied himself with attaching the two-toned red and white canisters. "I was in Buenos Aires when the call came in, and didn't have the time to get back to my safe house to grab my other gear."

"What were you doing there?" Finished tugging his boots back on, Rabbit began hauling the drop suit over his Sneaking Suit. Noticing the flat look Panther was giving him, he blinked. "Oh." Zipping up the suit, Rabbit strapped the altimeter to his wrist, then reached for his breathing mask. "So, we've got a gear crate for each of us then?"

"Right." Campbell gestured at the short row of crates. "Each one is tailored to your individual needs, right down to the nutritional content of the MREs, based on your battlefield performance and psych profiles. The weaponry and various bits of gear are made with carbon nanotubes where possible, to reduce the ammount of weight you'll be carrying. You should feel about half the weight of a typical combat load."

"That's handy." Adjusting the chest of his Sneaking Suit a little, Eagle crouched to lace his boots back up. "What about weaponry?"

"FOXHOUND standard issue sidearms and silencers." Campbell moved a little ways away from the end of the drop bay, looking at the squad. "Obviously, no explosives, since this is more of a sneaking mission."

"That's retarded." Croc stood up, having finished changing into his suit. "What if we need to take out a bunch of guys at once?"

"Then you'll have already failed your mission." Frowning, Campbell was about to make cutting remark about Croc's competence, when three sharp beeps interrupted him. "Excuse me." Turning, he strode over to the intercom system mounted to the wall, and picked up the hand unit. "Yes?"

"Let's muscle these over into drop-ready positions." Gesturing for Rabbit and Eagle to grab one crate, Panther looked over at Croc, then shook his head. The man was decidedly less than stable, it would be a waste of time talking to him right now. "Who's crate do you have there?"

Rabbit hunched over to check the stenciling on the side of the crate. "Uhh, mine, I think." Frowning, he thought for a moment, trying to anticipate Panther's next question. "That should be... A carbine, a subbie, an AR, and maybe a shottie too, if the Colonel was feeling extra generous."

Eagle blinked, staring at Rabbit with an odd expression on his face. "What?"

"A sub-machine gun, an assault rifle, and a shotgun." Grinning, Rabbit straightened up again. "Also, a decent camo kit. You can't have too much gear these days."

Eagle continued to haul the crate along with Rabbit's help. "What if you're over-burdened? What would you do about that?"

"I'd just stash the extra stuff somewhere, and if I got the chance and needed some of it, I'd sneak back to my cache and trade up." Setting down the crate next to the corner of the drop door, Rabbit patted the lid. "What do you think?"

Eagle shrugged. "A little much, but a good plan in the end. I sometimes do something similar when I'm out a few days early, and have to wait for the target to hit the killzone." Turning, he pointed at the remaining crates. "Which one do you want to lug next?"

"Bossman's. He looks like a guy who'd travel light." Chuckling, Rabbit stopped the instant the plane lurched beneath his feet. "Woah, what was that?"

"Course correction." Campbell replaced the hand unit. "We're passing over the US Navy's battlegroup. Apparently, that weapon has attracted more high-profile attention that we first thought."

"Will that be a problem?" Picking up the parachutes, Panther tossed them to the men, one by one. "Gear up now, just in case." He turned back to the Colonel as he was buckling his chute on over his drop suit. "What kind of interference can we expect?"

"None. This is, for all intents and purposes, a non-joint operation. The battlegroup is likely to stay and blockade the island chain for a few days before they consider making any sort of move, nobody in or out. They'll want them to sweat it out for a bit first, it makes negotiations easier that way." Campbell shot a curious look at Panther, who had cracked the seal on his crate. "What are you doing?"

Locking back the slide on the pistol he had withdrawn from the crate, Panther examined the chamber critically, before dropping the slide. "I feel naked enough as-is." Inserting a fresh magazine into the mag well of the pistol, he holstered the weapon, then proceeded to load several clips into his ammo belt beneath his drop suit. "Interesting choice of weapon." He also made sure to strap a knife to his ankle, _outside_ the drop suit, just in case he needed to cut free his chute, should he get tangled up in it.

Campbell grunted. "Mark 23 Mod 0, better known as the SOCOM, standard issue for FOXHOUND."

"Interesting choice." Panther repeated, as if the Colonel hadn't spoken at all. "Considering that the USP replaced the Mark 23 years ago." Leaning over to strap his altimeter to his arm, Panther rooted about in the crate, plucking out a few ration components.

"Not in FOXHOUND it hasn't." The Colonel's voice tightened a little as he continued speaking. "With the detour, our exp-"

A rattling boom rang out, as the plane jumped and bounced around the men.

"What was that?" Croc was down on all fours, trying to regain his footing.

"Missile strike?" Rabbit, half-sprawled over one of the crates, was rapidly looking around the drop bay.

"We'd be dead if it hit us." Eagle crawled over to Rabbit, and used him as a hand-hold to get to his feet.

"I know. A near miss maybe?" Rabbit reached back and grabbed the front of Eagle's drop suit hauling himself up as well.

"It was AA." Panther pulled the compact first-aid kit out and shoved it into an inner pocket of his drop suit, grabbing a palm-sized PDA before closing the crate again. "The first few rounds will be ranging shots, to get their air dead on, before they blow us out of the sky."

"Then you need to make your drop now, before we get shot down." The plane tilted sharply, veering off to the side just as another AA round battered the aircraft. "That one was too close."

Panther frowned, moving towards the back of the drop bay. "The pilot's going to get us killed. He was turning into that shot." He glanced over his shoulder at Campbell. "What kind of pilot was-" Staring in alarm, Panther quickly whipped out his mask and slipped it over his head. The modified, high collar neck sealed seamlessly to the mask, his Skull Suit completely one now.

The roar of rushing air filled the cabin, as Campbell held down the switch to open the drop bay. In an instant, Rabbit and Eagle tumbled out the back of the plane, and vanished. Croc, who had just regained his feet, was catapulted out when one of the crates shifted and slammed into him. The pilot was climbing now, and everything not bolted or strapped down was racing to the back of the plane.

Clinging to one of the rows of bench seating, bolted along the inside of the bay, Panther grimly glared at Campbell, who was pounding on the close button frantically. "The door's jammed! It won't close!"

Turning to look over his shoulder, Panther realized that the crate Rabbit and Eagle had moved was jammed into the door actuator on one side, wedging it open. Inwardly groaning, he released his hold on the seats, dropped, and slammed legs first into the crate. Clawing at the door controls with one hand, he tried to hook a hand through the straps with the other. Feeling his grip on the crate slide, he felt the door controls depress under his hand, and the crate fell free of the actuator. Breathing a sigh of relief, Panther grunted in surprise as he was roughly yanked out of the bay.

Slapping the controls to close the drop bay again, Campbell stared at the door for a few moments after it had locked shut. Striding over to pick up the intercom hand unit again, he frowned. "Get us out of here, and set down at our secure landing zone immediately. I want to be able to supervise as soon as possible."

-

**Location: Somewhere above the Atlantic Ocean, just above the Perlemain island chain**

**Transportation: Nil**

**Altitude: 37,582 feet and falling**

**Time: 0617 hours**

**Weather conditions: CaV OK**

Opening his eyes, Blue Panther tumbled over onto his back, staring up at the B-52 as it turned on it's side and began flying away. The world spun around a few times, then began an endless series of stomach-lurching flips. Hunching up into a ball, he yanked at the cargo webbing strap that was tangled about his ankle.

It only took him a few seconds to realize it wasn't going to come lose. Whipping out the knife from the sheath strapped to his ankle, he began sawing at the strap, sparing a moment to glance at his altimeter. After a few frantic seconds, the knife sliced completely through the strap. The strap curled about his wrist for a moment, whipped around by the wind, and then painfully tightened about his arm. In an instant, the strap yanked, pulled free, and his knife tumbled out of his hand, lost to the endless blue sky.

Tumbling chaotically, he still managed to lay a hand on the cargo chute release, and give it a good yank. The chute opened, and the crate vanished from his field of view.

Stabilizing his fall, he carefully rolled onto his back, looking up to confirm the crate was no longer in free-fall, but slowly gliding towards the earth. Rolling back onto his stomach, he squinted, peering through the amber tinted lenses of the the Skull Suit's mask. Far away, he could see a figure flailing as it dropped.

Tilting down towards the ground, Panther flattened his arms against his body, and pressed his legs tight together. Dropping like a human missile, he raced down towards the flailing body. Since Rabbit and Eagle had dropped first, it had to be Croc that was in trouble.

In an instant, he had closed the distance between them, and slammed bodily into Croc at nearly two hundred miles an hour. Breath exploding from his lungs, Panther flailed his legs about, trying to get Croc into an upright position. After a few nerve-wracking seconds, he reached up and yanked on Croc's chute handle, and the man was ripped from his grasp.

Tumbling aimlessly for the third time in less than five minutes, Panther stabilized his fall, risking a glance at his altimeter.

Twelve hundred feet.

Hauling on his ripcord as he tumbled back upright to the chute release position, the straps jerked at Panther's body, nearly forcing the breath from his lungs. Grabbing onto the toggles, he guided himself out of Croc's most likely glide path, and looked around. The sky was still full of the brilliant flashes of AA fire detonating, and high above him, three chutes. Tinted nearly the same shade of blue as the sky from below, he assumed they were shaded in some sort of green and brown pattern to prevent detection from above as well.

The two higher chutes would be Rabbit and Eagle, so the lower one was Croc.

Turning his attention towards the ground, he realized that the island was not as far below as it should have been. The rippled, tree covered peaks of it's small mountain range were coming up fast, far too fast for Panther's liking. Hauling on the toggles, he flared the chute and swooped over the peak, treetops scraping at his boots as he narrowly sailed over the mountaintop. An instant later and he was gliding silently over the multiple rivers that gushed from the mountains, and trickled down across the island.

He took the time to survey the layout of the land as he drifted down from the sky. Glancing back up, and behind himself, he stared as bright streaks of light raced towards the slowly descending canopys of his squad. Bright bursts of light flashed, and flames enveloped the vulnerable chutes in an instant. Looking forward, he saw several flashes in the distance.

More AA fire.

Looking down, he figured he was about twenty or so meters up, drifting over one of the rivers. Grabbing his chute release, he yanked the handle, and the trailing lines from his parachute released. He looked up as he fell, just in time to see his own chute vanish in a cloud of flames. Looking down, he straightened out his body in time to strike the water heels first. The rushing current tossed him about wildly, and rather than fight it, he curled up into a ball. One arm hugging his knees to his chest, Panther kept the other one curled protectively around his head and face, preventing his mask and the attached tanks from being torn off.

Letting the mask do the breathing for him, he tried to calculate just how high up the rest of his team was before the AA hit them. If they were high enough up, they'd be able to drop being the mountain range, and safely deploy their reserve chutes. Stretching out his body, Panther began to languidly kick his legs, scanning the amber tinted riverbed for any signs of traps or mines.

A dozen or so meters more, and Panther carefully hauled himself out of the river. Stripping off his drop suit and altimeter, he hunted about until he found a nicely sized cleft in the ground. Removing the oxygen canisters from his mask, he buried them, the suit, and the altimeter beneath a layer of loose soil and a few large rocks.

Peeling back his mask, Blue Panther took his first breath of fresh, island air.

The air was very still and quiet. The AA fire had stopped at some point after his narrow escape into the river. Taking a moment to open the valves on his mask, he slipped it back on, sealing his Skull Suit to the outside world once more. He was alone. He was under equipped. He wasn't even sure if he had the element of surprise any longer.

The mission was on.

-

This has got to be the longest chapter I've ever written to date. Two pages or so of action, and seven of dialogue.

This is a first for me, as I tend to primarily write action or comedy. So many pages of dry, dry dialogue. Though, in my defense, this is probably the first time I've needed to go out of my way to explain much of the background and plot set up.

Feel free to ask any questions, or make any comments. I usually reply to anything except for 'good job' comments, on an individual basis at the opening of the next chapter.


End file.
